


Hearts Afire

by tautauri



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: FireRed & LeafGreen | Pokemon FireRed & LeafGreen Versions
Genre: Gen, I'll update the tags once the ball really gets rolling, Multi, Nuzlocke Challenge, Red can speak (he just doesn't like to), Red is his nickname
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 19:58:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19482943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tautauri/pseuds/tautauri
Summary: From the minute Red descends the staircase, he knows that none of this is going to be easy.A FireRed Storylocke.





	Hearts Afire

**Author's Note:**

> First fic... first published one, anyway. Based on a FireRed Nuzlocke I'm doing. Not a super experienced writer, but here goes nothing I guess.

Before they even reach the door, Scarlett is keenly aware that something is very wrong. She hears the cracking of the wet gravel and sees the sleek black vehicle slowly rolling down the street from her front window. It’s a sickeningly familiar sight; the very same vehicle made an appearance in Pallet just last month in front of the Oak residence. Her stomach churns. This couldn’t be happening. He made a promise to her. He promised he’d be back soon, that the conflict in Orre would be swift and he would be back with her and the baby and everything would be just fine and--

The doorbell rings, cutting through the silence of the house. Wasting no time, Scarlett scoops up her son Radley from the carpet and balances him on her hip. He makes no noise of protest. Though almost two years old, he’s not much of a talker, usually preferring to communicate through the means of either frenetic hand gestures or wide-eyed stares. Right now, he seems to be choosing the latter.

Upon opening the door, Scarlett is greeted by the sight of two men in uniform, one of them young and lanky and the other middle-aged and sturdy. A Flareon stands at their heels, which Radley spots immediately and begins squirming in her grip so he might be able to pet it. The older man clears his throat.

“Are you Mrs. Scarlett Redwood?”

Mouth too dry to form a verbal response, she finds herself nodding an affirmative.

“I’m Captain Gregory, from the Southern Division of--”

“Just say it. I know what you’re going to tell me, just say it!” The words leave her mouth in a rather undignified gulp. Well, so much for a dry mouth being her excuse. She doesn’t care, though. She just wants it to be over so she can slam the door and go upstairs and blow her brains out. The younger officer offers a pitiful smile at her sudden outburst. Captain Gregory sighs. His voice is deep and barely audible above the sound of the rain as he recites:

“The Kanto Secretary of Defense has asked me to express to you his deep regret that your husband, Private Ross Redwood, was killed in action yesterday at approximately oh-nine-hundred hours at the base of Mount Batoru, in the Orre region. The Secretary extends his deepest condolences to you and your family.”

Her head is swimming and her whole body feels like it’s vibrating. She grips the doorframe with her free hand. Deep regret? That’s utter shit. You can’t lead thousands off to war in a distant land for Mew knows what reason, if any at all, and feel so-called “deep regret.” Her mind wanders. Did the Secretary feel that same regret last month? Did he offer the same condolences to Samuel Oak, who lost a son and a daughter-in-law? To Graham and Sarah Oak’s children, freshly orphaned for no good reason?

Of course he did. That’s just protocol.

Captain Gregory continues to speak, handing her a crisp white envelope. But Scarlett isn’t listening anymore. The men speak. Radley gurgles. Amidst their protests and their knocking, Scarlett wordlessly shuts the door and sets Radley back down on the carpet

She lasts for all of ten seconds before breaking down in sobs.

* * *

From the minute Red descends the staircase, he knows that none of this is going to be easy. At the bottom of the landing, he takes in the scene that awaits him: the dusty curtains drawn, the lights dim except for the blue glow of the television, and his mother sitting on the couch, huddled under far too many blankets. Of all the days he could have done this, of course it had to be on one of his mother’s Bad Days. Anxiously, he clears his throat. As he was anticipating, no response comes from the direction of the sofa. Weakly, he tries again.

“I’m going, Mom.”

No response.

“I’m fourteen, Mom. Most other kids left Pallet years ago. I can’t… I can’t take it anymore. I can’t just sit around here and do nothing.” _Not like you._

His valiant attempt is rewarded with a feeble sniffle. Red counts it as a small success. Tentatively, he approaches the couch and sits down next to the lump of fabric. Slowly, like a Butterfree emerging from its Metapod shell, his mother pulls back the blankets obscuring her face. Throughout his childhood, Red had often thought that his mother was beautiful, with her long dark hair and large brown eyes. Looking at her now though, curled up and wasting away watching daytime soaps, he cannot believe how far she has fallen from the cheerful woman depicted in family photographs. Scarlett Redwood, the kind neighbor, proud mother, and military wife is nothing in his mind but a distant memory. In her place is the Scarlett he knows: a distant shell of a woman, hollow and confused on her best days and downright volatile on her worst ones. Her face is tearstained, her eyes shot with red from irritation and strain. She gives Red a thousand-yard stare, exhaling shakily before attempting to speak.

“Right. All boys must leave home someday. It said so on TV.” Though her words are breathy, they come with a heaviness Red doesn’t even attempt to place.

“I won’t be leaving forever, Mom, I promise, I’ll just be away for–”

“Just _go,_ Radley,” she whispers, voice cracking. Red nods a silent assent. When he leaves, he closes the door softly behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Shorter than I would have liked it to be, but I'm just trying things out. Let me know what you think.


End file.
